I’ve been feeling under the weather,
It is winter and bones can get cold…
Especially when you reach my age
And your two-legs keeps saying “You’re old.”
Now, I know that in ‘dog years’ I’m eldest,
Though the theory has been disproved
That I’ll age seven years in your twelvemonth
So the argument leaves me unmoved.
Because, me, I’m a puppy when playing…
I can chase, fetch and squeak things all day
Where she’ll only survive for an hour
Before she tries running away.
I can go chase a cat in the garden,
Then I’ll see off the birds, it’s no chore
And if cows are becoming a problem,
I can see off the whole herd mid-snore.
But my two legs appears to be fragile,
There are some who would treat her like glass…
Meanwhile, I think that she would do better,
If she moved more and got off her….chair…
“But it’s cold, girlie whirl,” she keeps saying,
“It is winter and bones can just freeze…
And if you want more movement from my end
Could we just shut the garden door please?”
But I like having doors that stand open,
So that I can go both ways at will
And if anything threatens my two-legs
I can simply move in for the ‘kill’.
I don’t think she has ever admitted
Just what sacrifices I have made?
“Don’t you think, little small dog, that maybe
In love, cheese and chicken, you’re paid?”
She may have a point ’cause she spoils me,
There’s always a treat I can chew,
And when I’m feeling under the weather
It’s her I will cuddle up to.